


His Name Is Jethro

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [13]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Tony's tired of his father calling him Jr and misappropriating his funds. So he takes steps.





	His Name Is Jethro

His name is Jethro.

 

Couldn’t resist this. 

I don’t like Senior. NCIS has retcon-ed the man to make his personality fit the image projected by the wonderful Robert Wagoner. I don’t believe that for a second; they spent eight seasons pointing out that he was a shit.

I don’t think Senior actually ever hit Tony; he was more the neglectful sort. As my mother was a teacher, I was taught that there are levels of neglect: 1) absent neglect, where the parents just can’t do the job because they’re working, drug addicted, etc. 2) benign neglect: the parent doesn’t realize that he/she is neglectful. 3) malicious neglect: the parent doesn’t care, or actively dislikes the child and is usually verbally abusive. Abandonment: the parent actually just leaves the child. After that it becomes abuse of one sort or another. I think that Senior was maliciously neglectful, bordering on abandoning. 

 

.

 

After the night of the concert, which had brought in quite a bit of money for Toys for Tots, Tony got a call from the offices of his father’s lawyers. They informed him that he wasn’t permitted to use a name not his. He called his father and got an aide to an aide to a secretary. He just told them that he was going to initiate a lawsuit unless someone called him ASAP.

This got him a call from his father’s personal assistant, who had no idea he even existed.

Remy answered his phone, as he was in the restroom.

“DiNozzo.” Remy decided to put the phone on speaker just because, so everyone heard.

“Is this the person who is claiming to be Anthony Dominic DiNozzo?”

“No, this is Master Chief Petty Officer Remiel Devereaux. This is Senior Special Agent Anthony Dominic DiNozzo Jr.’s desk. He’s away at the moment. May I take a message, or will you hold?” Remy eyed the phone like it was a grenade. 

Gibbs, overhearing the exchange, got up and went to Tony’s desk. “This is his immediate superior Senior Special Agent Gibbs. Is there a problem?”

“Yes. The problem is that your agent seems to be using my boss's name.”

“Um ...” Gibbs blanked for a moment, he couldn’t imagine someone not knowing that their boss had a son. “He’s junior, your boss is senior. Everyone calls him Senior, right?”

“Well, yes.” The puzzlement was plain in the man’s voice.

“So .. how does he get to be senior if there’s no junior? Answer me that. And while you’re scratching your head, put your boss on the line.” Gibbs' no-nonsense tone finally got through to the man.

There was a bit of background noise and, just as Tony walked up, Senior was on the phone.

“To whom am I speaking?”

“Gibbs. You called us.”

“I don’t think so. Gibbs? I don’t recognize the name.” Senior sounded puzzled and annoyed.

“Marine. At the concert.” Gibbs really didn’t care if Senior remembered him or not.

“Oh yeah ... yeahyeahyeah. What do you want?”

Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose right between his eyes. “I don’t want anything. You had your flunky call us. So ... right back at ya. Wadda ya want?”

There was a bit of rather frantic whispering then Senior said, “I don’t want to speak to any of you. My personal assistant wants to clear up some things. Something to do with Junior and an account that wasn’t ...” more whispering and Senior barked, “If you took something of his, give it back, plus interest. I don’t need his nickels and dimes. Fix it.” 

The personal assistant, whose name no one knew or cared about, said, “I need to know your Social Security number so I can figure out which accounts belong to you and which to Mr DiNozzo.”

Tony snorted. “If you think I’m giving you the time of day, you’re nuts. There’s a 401K that was supposed to be transferred from Baltimore PD to NCIS. Find it and give it back to me. Also, if it has Jr., or doesn’t actually have Sr. on it, it’s mine.”

“I see. I ... there’s been four or five personal assistants with Mr DiNozzo in the last six years. I’ll see what I can dig up in records. If you’ll give me the date of the transfer, I’ll ... do what I can. If you would please remember to sign all your correspondence with Jr. ...”

Tony cut him off. “I’d like to know what part of LtCmdr, or Special Agent you don’t get. I never, ever sign Mr. If you can’t tell who’s who by that, if it’s not Father’s social, leave it alone. And leave me alone.”

“Yes, sir. I see. I’ll do what I can. I’ll try.”

Tony eyed the phone for a moment then said, “Do or do not; there is no try. Fix it,” and hung up.

.

 

Tony eyed the email from his father’s personal secretary. All he really wanted to do was pull a Gibbs and smash his phone to bits. The jerk had said that, since the missing 401K had been intermingled with Senior’s funds; he, Tony, had to prove that it was his money and, even if he did, he wasn’t getting interest, as they were not a lending institution. He decided to pull a favor and called the JAG office. Bulldog Prewit owed him a favor.

After talking to the lawyer, he had a little bit of a tizzy. She had advised him to change his name. He liked being Tony DiNozzo and didn’t want to, but she said getting rid of the Jr. attached to his name was the only way he was ever going to get any relief. She also promised to get him his 401K, with interest, penalties, and fines. 

Ms. Prewit informed him that changing his name wasn’t that hard; she gave him the name of someone in NCIS’ legal department that would be glad to help him, so he dialed that extension and spoke to the man. “Look. I know you don’t know me. But Prewit said I should talk to you. Can I come down?”

Mr. Brownel was more than happy to help Tony; he even knew exactly who he was. “Special Agent DiNozzo. I would be more than happy to help you. Come to my office and we’ll talk about it. Bring coffee.” He chuckled before he hung up.

Tony told Tim to tell Gibbs that he was in Legal for a bit, then went for coffee. He wasn’t about to drink that swill they produced in the break room, so he went to his favorite coffee shop and got a venti Americano with hazelnut creamer and sugar for himself, and a plain one for Mr Brownel. He stuffed sugar packets and tiny creamer cups into a thigh pocket and headed back.

It didn’t take him long to get back through security and into Legal. He found Mr. Brownel waiting for him with a couple of files on his desk. “I got a call from the Director while I was waiting for you. Evidently someone called the SecNav, who called your CO, who called Vance. I’m to expedite your case. So ... why don’t you tell me all.”

Tony spent the next hour explaining what had happened in his life, something he hated, and finished, “So, the advice is to change my name.”

“I see. That’s not that hard. I have the forms available, I’ll have my secretary print up a set. Just fill them out and I’ll do the rest. It’ll take a couple of days and you’ll have a Foxtrot Tango of changing to do, but it’s simple.” Mr Brownel paged his secretary and told her to print out the forms. It didn’t take her long to do that and bring in the folder.

“Here you go.” Noticing the expression on Tony’s face, she reassured him, “It’s not that complicated, really. Just a request form, an explanation form, and a change-of-legal-name form. You’ll have to have the request and explanation forms notarized; just bring them back to me and I’ll do it. Then you submit all three to a judge, who’ll sign the change-of-legal-name form, and there you are.”

Tony sighed, “But I like being Tony DiNozzo.”

She eyed him for a moment then said, “Young man, I’m old enough to be your mother, so I’ll just give you this advice. Just change your middle name. That’s all it’ll take. You’ll still be Anthony DiNozzo, just without all the baggage that “junior” brings. Now, get busy on those forms.” And with that she nodded once and tapped out, heels clicking on the floor.

Mr. Brownel grinned. “You’ve been owned. She does that all the time. She’s been here since the NIS days, five or six bosses ago. Fixture. Smart. Won’t take another promotion, says she does enough paperwork as it is. Better do like she says. Woman’s a nag and sharp as a new needle.”

Tony laughed heartily at that. “I have been owned, yes, I have. So ... I’ll have to think about this. What should I change my name to?”

“Don’t know. But it should be something significant to you and easy to live with.” He thought, tapping a finger on a file. “Ummm. Nickname?”

“AJ. Short for Anthony Junior. Long story. But I like being called AJ, have been for years. Hum.” He rubbed his hands over his short Ivy League, making his hair stand out in every direction. 

“Well, just change your middle name to something beginning with J. Something that means something special.” Brownel finished his coffee, tossed the cup and said, “Need more of that. You take off and think about it. As soon as you finish the paperwork, bring it to Francine. She’ll do the rest. All I have to do is sign the stuff.” He got up and walked Tony to the door.

Tony parted ways with him at his floor and went to his desk. He settled down and spread the papers out on his desk. He read each one carefully, then made a copy of the form before he started to fill them out. If he made a mistake he’d have a fresh form to use.

He filled out everything he could, then came to the line which asked what he wanted to change his name to. He just sat and stared at it for awhile. 

Finally, he brightened and said, “Boss, got a minute?”

Gibbs looked up and nodded. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Your office?” Tony headed for the elevator.

Gibbs followed him and turned it off between floors. “Ok, AJ, what’s up?”

“I’m changing my name to get rid of junior. And ... well ... I was wondering...” He eyed Gibbs for a moment then took the plunge. “Would you mind if I took Jethro?”

Gibbs nearly choked on the sip of coffee he'd just taken. “What the fuckin’ hell? Damn it, AJ, warn a guy.”

“I did, Boss. But ... if you don’t like the idea... Well. See, if I change my middle name to Jethro, I keep the initials AJ and it actually makes more sense. And ... I like Jethro.” The last was said in a rather plaintive tone than made Gibbs snicker.

He looked at Tony then said softly, “If you like it, I’d be honored.” He grinned then added, “But I’ll be damned if I’m sponsoring your baptism.”

Tony gave him a horrified look. “Oh, no, Boss. No baptism. Nuns ... and ... priests ... and ... and ... just ... oh, hell no.”

“Well, okay, then. Come on.” Gibbs flipped the switch back on, and the elevator ground into motion again. They went down to Abby’s lab.

Tony sighed; this was going to be interesting. 

“Abby! Turn that shit down.” Tony didn’t bother to pretend he liked Abby’s music anymore. He didn’t hate it, but he didn’t like it either.

Abby turned, pouted, and turned the music off. “What? You don’t like Skinned Possums?”

Tony made a face. “No. Sounds like some sort of red-neck casserole. Yuck.” He hugged her quickly. “Now. Pay attention.” Abby gave him a sloppy, left-handed saluted. “Wrong hand again. Anyway. I’m changing my name, per legal advice, and I wanted to know what you thought of Anthony Jethro DiNozzo.”

Abby gave him a startled look then began to grin. “Oh. My. God. It’s perfect. You get to keep AJ and it’s great and you’ll sound so distinguished rather than sounding like a Guido—not that there’s anything wrong with being a Guido, unless you don’t like it but .. Wow ... just ... wow. And I’ll get Sister Mary Kathleen to get Father Marin to baptize you ...” Tony just shook his head. “No?”

“No. I’m not getting baptized again. No nuns. No Father anyone. Just no. But I take it you like the name?”

“Oh, yeah. Perfect.” Something dinged and she hurried over to the machine, saying over her shoulder, “My babies call. Shoo. Go do ... stuff.”

They both laughed and ambled out to go see Ducky and Jimmy.

It turned out that Ducky and Jimmy had company, in the persons of the rest of the pod. They were all seated around an autopsy table, eating snacks and drinking hot tea. 

This had become a high point of the day for Ducky; Remy or Dean would slip down and make tea while someone else would go out and bring back doughnuts or something. They’d sit around eating and drinking and going over cases; Tony, Tim, and Gibbs joined them if there wasn’t an active case. Abby managed to sneak in once in a while too.

“Ok, you jerks, listen up.” Tony snitched Tim’s tea.

“Hey! Get your own.” But Tim’s complaint wasn’t that heated; it was more obligatory.

Tony settled in the chair Ducky offered and told everyone what was going on around bites of pastry. He finished his story and his snack at the same time. “So, what do you think?”

The general consensus was, “It’s about time.” 

Tony grinned, then sobered. “That’s great that you all like the idea. I’m just not looking forward to getting name changes done. I’m sure to miss something somewhere.”

Tim snorted, waved a hand as if shooing flies and said, “Not a problem. You really think I can’t write a program that will search the ‘net and find every incidence of your name out there and change it?”

Tony eyed him for a moment then just said, “I’ll warn Belt so he doesn’t have a heart attack. Take your time writing it; I still have to get the paperwork done.”

Gibbs just grabbed another doughnut as he headed for the door. “Well, get on with it.”

Tony rolled his eyes and followed.

.

Remy wandered up to the bullpen to tell Tony that he, Dean, and Cosmo were being called to Quantico, something about training a bunch of idiots to do an enter-and-clear without falling all over each other. 

Tony snickered at that, and Remy replied, “Well, we fixed it, didn’t we? Same deal, different pod. So. ‘Bye.” He left, trailed by the other two SEALs. Tony went back to his paperwork.

Tim started building his program, muttering about worms, trojans, and viruses. 

Gibbs did whatever it was he did when they weren’t working a case.

It took Tony the rest of the day to complete the forms, checking them with both Tim and Gibbs for any errors.

They were good, as far as they could tell, so Tony hand-carried them down to Francine, who smiled at him and said, “That was fast. I’ll take them in for Mr. Brownel to notarize, then take them to a judge.” She winked, “I know one who ... doesn’t care much for dear ol’ dad and will be happy to expedite the order.” She picked the folder up and went into the inner office. Tony wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wait or go, so he waited.

Francine popped out of the office about five minutes later. She took one look at Tony then said, “Oh! I didn’t mean for you to wait. I have to take this down to the courthouse and that’ll take ... nearly an hour at this time of day. I’ll give this to the judge’s aide, who’ll see that she considers the case before the close of business today. But that still means it’ll be tomorrow, late, before we get them back. Go home.” She smiled at him, grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

Tony stopped her. “Here, let me help you with that.” He helped her on with her coat and walked her to the elevator. They both got on, but Tony got off at the squad room while Francine went on down to the parking garage. 

“How’s it going?” Tim really felt sorry for Tony. His Father was a pushy asshole, but at least he cared. Tony’s father actually hadn’t recognized Tony while he was on stage. Tim wondered if he recognized Tony at all, or just the name. 

Tony chuckled, “Well, on my way to being not-junior. Yay. And, I’m thinking I’ll be getting my 401K after all.”

Tim sighed. “If I had known that you weren’t just blowing smoke, I’d have fixed that too.”

Tony shrugged. “Best to do it legal. Bulldog Prewit is on that. And she’ll get me the principal, interest, and any fines or fees I’m entitled to, and put the screws to Father for every single penny and guilt him into more.”

“How much?” Tim grinned, “Not being nosy but, I could calculate the interest and send it to her. And how the hell did she get a nickname like Bulldog?

“With a name like Bessie, and an attitude of never let go? What do you think? And never, ever, if you value your jewels, call her Bessie. Mz. Cavendish or Cavendish is safest.” Tony picked up the phone. “DiNozzo.”

He listened to the quacking sounds from the other end of the line for a moment then snapped, “Well, fuck you and the jackass you rode in on. I will not. If you can’t separate my funds from Senior’s without someone holding your hand, I’ll turn you over to Legal. You really want to deal with JAG?” He listened again. “I’ll send you a demand letter by end of business tomorrow. Notarized, insured, and you’ll be required to sign for it. Not the mail room; you.” He didn’t bother to listen again, he just hung up.

Tim announced, “I’ll have those figures for you in five minutes.”

Tony nodded absently without looking up from his typing. “Thanks; I should have this letter done by then.”

It didn’t take long to finish the letter, cut and paste the financial information from the email Tim sent into it, and send it, via email, to Mr. Brownel. He replied that he’d print it out and send it, by messenger. If he sent it by messenger, he knew it would get to Mr. DiNozzo Sr. instead of being waylaid by some underling.

And with that, the day was done. Tony collected his housemates and went home.

.

The next morning saw Tony glaring at a pile of folders on his desk. Gibbs chuckled and said, “Don’t kill the messenger.”

Tony gave him the finger and started sorting. 

Tim had a similar pile on his desk but one folder stood out. It had one piece of paper in it, and the second Tim opened it, it burst into flames. He slapped it off into his empty trash can and snarled, “Damn it, AJ.”

Tony gave him a wide-eyed look from half way to his desk. “No, not me. I don’t pull that kind of prank. You might have gotten burned. Silly String in your shoes, yes. Exploding, flaming things, no. Not unless you’re Al Qaeda or ISIS or something.” He eyed the remains for a moment. “Send it all down to Abby.”

Gibbs didn’t bother with giving them orders; he just started collecting evidence. This was not funny at all.

After bagging everything and sending it down to Abby, they cleaned up the last of the mess and called housekeeping to fix the scorched carpet.

Tim sighed. “Well, shit. AJ, amuse me.”

“Ok. I got my name-change papers back. Francine must have walked them through the courthouse in person. And ... I have a letter from the ol’ man’s legal department. I’ll be getting a paper check delivered to Yorktown, to be deposited in my pension fund.” He smirked. “If the ol’ man thinks that’ll irritate me, he’s sadly mistaken. I get that when I retire.” He shrugged. “It’s all good.”

Tim snorted. “I bet Belt would cash it for you. Just to annoy Senior.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m good. I’ve got enough, and more than. You know Ducky isn’t charging us rent, just pay on the utilities. I’m putting all my hazard pay and about a third of my check back. I don’t need it right now, and it’s really nice to have a nest egg.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. I’m good too, and it’s nice. The insurance finally paid the last of what I’m owed on the fire; I put it up.” Tim grinned back at Tony. He, Jimmy, and Tony were all a bit put out that Ducky wouldn’t take any rent. But he said he had more money than he knew what to do with, and he was just glad to have company. So they took care of the house expenses, cooked, cleaned, and did laundry. Ducky didn’t so much as put out his own towels. 

“So, you send out that worm or whatever yet?”

“I’ve got it written. As soon as I actually see the papers, I’m good to go.”

Gibbs who’d listened to the chatter with a small smile on his lips, now announced, “Let me see them too.”

Tony handed the file to Tim, who glanced at the court order and passed it to Gibbs. “Okay.” He couldn’t resist. “AJ, come here and hit ‘enter.’”

Tony ambled across the gap between their desks and leaned over Tim’s shoulder. “What?”

“Hit ‘enter.’ It’ll start the process. Take about thirty minutes or so.”

Tony tapped the “enter” button and grinned. “I was meaning to ask: is that going to go back in history? Or just catch things like my service records and social?”

Tim stuck out his lip. “I fixed it to append to anything older than about three years. That means that it’ll change your name on the files by appending an attachment with the notation of date of name change. It’s complicated, but if you want a thorough explanation, I’m happy to provide it.”

Tony backed away with every evidence of horror. “Oh, no. Thanks. That’s okay.”

Tim snickered and went back to doing something on his computer.

Tony maturely stuck his tongue out at Tim, then returned to his desk to deal with the paperwork that HR had provided him to take care of his official name change in their system. He wondered if Tim’s worm or whatever would do the actual work, or if he would have to deal with some bean-counter.

Meanwhile, in Director Vance’s office: “No, I don’t care. If it had ‘Jr.’ on it, it belongs to our DiNozzo. It goes into his retirement fund, either here or with the Navy. See to it.” He’d gotten a call from Baltimore and another from Yorktown. He wasn’t dealing well with the realization that one of his own had been defrauded of a 401K and several paychecks. The Navy was even more incensed. Senior now had NCIS and JAG on his ass. He hung up and gave Cynthia the instruction that any more calls relating to DiNozzo went to the head of Legal. He then called that woman and told her to ‘go postal’ on the whole mess. She turned it over to her two best men, one of whom was actually a woman. They were delighted; it seemed that nearly everyone liked Tony, and anyone who’d had any contact with his father actively hated him. 

.

Anthony Dominic DiNozzo shivered. Someone had, as the saying went, walked over his grave. He wondered what was giving him this creepy feeling. He returned to negotiations with the Saudi prince. He had a deal going and was going to have to fly to Saudi Arabia at once. 

His personal assistant said, “But sir, you can’t leave the country, you’re being sued by ... NCIS, the Navy, and your son.”

Senior waved a hand, said saying, “Just give them what they want. I’m not interested in Junior’s nickels and dimes. I disowned him when he was twelve to keep him from getting any of my money. I don’t want his.” 

Prince Saud ibn Abdul-Aziz ibn Muhammad Al Saud, who was named after an ancestor, listened in disgust as this man just denied a son. He was old-fashioned, in that he took care of all his children and didn’t tolerate foolishness from them, but he would never disown one. Put them out herding goats, yes, disown, no. He decided that he didn’t want much to do with any deal DiNozzo, Sr. was involved in.

He signaled his personal assistant, who stepped to his side and announced, “We need to be going. You have another appointment, and, if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Anthony shrugged this off, saying, “Let them wait. This is an important deal, and we need to reach some decisions now.”

Prince Abdul-Aziz blinked for a moment, then put his sunglasses on. “I don’t believe we can do business. You are impossibly rude. Excuse me.”

Mr. DiNozzo watched as the prince walked away, then muttered, “Dirty-kneed rag-head. I don’t need him anyway,” and went into the bar.

After three very expensive scotch and waters, where he just yelled water in the general direction of the scotch, he felt it was his assistant’s fault that the deal had fallen through, so he fired the man on the spot. The man just shrugged, sent a few final emails, including one to Legal that they were to give NCIS, JAG, the Navy, and Lieutenant Commander Anthony (Dominic-now-Jethro) DiNozzo no-longer-Jr. whatever they demanded. Legal immediately sent the demanded interest, fines, and fees to the Navy, and sent proof of payment to NCIS, JAG, and Tony, then washed their hands of the whole mess. 

Tony got another email which made him laugh. He showed it to Gibbs, who chuckled darkly, then said, “He’ll have fits when he finds out.”

“Do I give a shit? Um ... let me think. Nope, no shit to give.” Tony shrugged negligently.

Tim did something to his computer, then announced, “Okay. Done. You’re on record everywhere, name changed where necessary, and your bank accounts are all secured. No one takes any money out for any reason without prior approval from you.”

Remy, Dean, and Cosmo appeared from the direction of the elevator. Remy barked, “Attention. Salute,” and they snapped to attention and saluted sharply.

Tony saluted back. “At ease.” He looked at his friends for a moment. “As you were.” They relaxed. “One of you lugnuts want to tell me what that’s about?”

“First salute to Anthony Jethro DiNozzo. Sir.” Remy smirked.

“Christ on a cracker. You ...” Tony had to shake his head. “Okay. Thanks.”

Gibbs nodded to the group. “We need to do something. Have a dinner or ...” he waved a hand.

Ducky, who’d been standing by the guest desk, announced, “Yes, we do. But what?”

Tony was a bit startled to see that Jimmy was also there, standing behind Ducky. Abby was beside him.

Abby frowned for a moment, then said, “Well, since you don’t want to be re-baptized, I think we ought to have a dinner out. Someplace really, really nice.”

They gathered around Gibbs’ desk to discuss where to go. Abby was all for The Lafayette, but everyone else turned that down as too stuffy: good, but not up for their usual antics. Ducky put forth his favorite, The 1789. They turned that one down as requiring reservations 24 hours in advance. Several other high-class places were put forward, but turned down for a variety of reasons.

Finally Jimmy offered, “Well, there’s that new place in Silver Spring. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, but it’s really nice. George in the mail room went with his girlfriend and told me about it. I checked it out with GoodEats, and it’s five-star. No reservations needed. It’s not really expensive either.”

Tony thought about that, then took a visual poll; everyone seemed to like the idea. “Okay. Dress code?”

Jimmy dug his phone out of his pocket, fiddled for a moment, then said, “Suit and tie. I’ve got a tie in the Hummer. Ducky?” 

Ducky tweaked his tie with a slight smirk. 

The rest of them had to change before going, so they split up to go home and change. Jimmy took the opportunity to make a reservation for a single table for ten. 

Quick calls back and forth left them in business suits and ties; the restaurant offered off-the-rack for those who forgot, but no one wanted to wear something like that. They also agreed to all go together in Tony’s Hummer. It was big enough that, since they were all so friendly, they’d fit. Abby was excepted; she was coming via taxi, as she was going to have wine and wouldn’t drive her hotrod after any drink, even a single glass of wine.

Tony straightened his tie, checked his pocket square, and picked up his keys. He had to admit that his last season's Brioni in dark navy blue made him look like a high powered CEO. It didn’t hurt that his stark white shirt, dark green tie, and pocket square made his tan look perfect. He smirked at himself in the mirror, then went downstairs.

A quick look proved that Tim, Jimmy, and Ducky were all perfect. He chuckled softly at Ducky’s Harris tweed, which was very distinguished, while Tim and Jimmy both wore upscale Brooks Brothers, all in some shade of dark navy. Tim wore a red tie and no pocket square, while Jimmy wore the dark blue shirt and lighter tie that Tony had chosen for him. Ducky’s bow tie was the lightest shade in his tweed.

“You all look like power players. Come on.” Tony’s approval made Jimmy smile, while Ducky and Tim just nodded.

They got to Gibbs HQ to find that Remy, Dean, and Cosmo were all wearing navy blue suits much like Tim and Jimmy, while Gibbs had on a very dark charcoal grey with a lighter pinstripe. His steel-grey shirt was a shade between the suit and the pinstripe, while his tie and pocket square were the same shade as the stripe. All in all, they looked like the board of directors of some Fortune 500 company.

Tony grinned at Gibbs. “Look good, Boss.”

“Thanks. You look like a shark.”

“Right back at ya. Come on.”

Jimmy piped up. “Yeah, we need to be going. I made reservations for 1900.”

So they headed out in the Hummer, joking and laughing.

Their arrival at the restaurant caused a bit of a stir. First, the parking attendant took one look at the Hummer and refused to move it, saying, “Oh, no. That’s way out of my pay grade. Not a chance in the world.” He pointed out a parking place just to the other side of the lot booth. “Just park it there then give me the key. I’ll make sure no one messes with it. Thanks.” So Tony parked the Hummer himself.

Not that he minded; the thing was an extended monster with enough horsepower to make a real mess if it got away.

When they entered the restaurant, they were greeted by a very polite maître d’ who offered them the choice of three tables, all capable of seating them all comfortably. “I wasn’t sure of what would make you most comfortable, so I reserved three tables. I’m sure we’ll learn your preferences quickly. Please.” He led the way out into the dining room to the first table.

This table was right in the middle of the room, exposed on all sides, and made all of them uncomfortable. Tony shook his head. “Too exposed.”

The next table was in a dark corner and was just sad. Ducky shook his head at that one. “My goodness, we’ll need torches to read the menu.” The maître d’ agreed. “I’ve been telling the owner that we need to eliminate this table. Only spies and people having an affair want something like this. It needs to be ... something useful.” 

He led the way to the last table, saying, “It’s a bit close to the kitchen for most people but ... I think it’s a nice table. Private without being isolated. You can see most of the room, and you can put your back to something solid. Will this do?”

Gibbs glanced at Tony, who nodded; a quick visual, and Gibbs was taking a seat, followed by everyone else. “This is good. Thank you.”

Remy eyed the room. It was large, with tables scattered around at a decent distance from each other. He hated those places that crowded tables together to make more seating in a small room. “Miss Abby?”

Tim was reading a text and replied absently, “She just sent me a text. She’s running a bit late, but should be here in ten.”

Abby arrived about five minutes later, dressed in an early 1900s-style mourning dress of black lace lined with dark grey watered silk, her shoulders modestly covered by an open-work crocheted shawl edged in jet-beaded picots.  A choker of black pearls graced her neck, supporting a cameo at the front. Her shoes were a rather unremarkable, for her, Mary Jane style, although their three-inch platform soles were a bit unusual. She was wearing elbow length black lace mitts, with a closed black parasol hanging from one arm.  A  small, draw-string reticule covered in jet beads completed her ensemble; all in all, she looked very nice.  
“Evening, people.” Abby settled in the chair that Jimmy held for her. “Thank you.”

The server came over and smiled at them. “My name is Megan, and I’ll be your server for the evening. We have a very nice prime rib as a special. It’s served with your choice of potato, steamed asparagus or pan-seared Brussels sprouts, and salad.” She handed menus around. “Drinks?” No one had decided on anything yet, so she poured water and went away.

Dean eyed the offerings and announced, “Prime rib for me.” 

It turned out that everyone wanted rib, baked potatoes and, surprisingly, the pan-seared Brussels sprouts with apple reduction. Gibbs signaled the server, who returned, pad in hand. 

“Ok, gentlemen ... and lady. Separate tabs, or all on one?” 

Ducky announced, “It’s on me. And no argy-bargy about it.” His stern look encompassed the whole table and shut everyone up. No one was rude enough to argue with Ducky in public.

They went around the table, ordering, which included drinks. 

Abby asked for a peach cooler, while everyone else had wine. Tony asked the sommelier to choose a nice wine to go with their choice of red meat. 

He came to the table with a smile on his face, which grew into a true grin as Tony discussed the selections with him. Ducky wanted a special bottle of wine for the occasion, so the sommelier went to the back to check the cellar. He returned with a bottle of Nicolas Potel, Bonnes Mares - 2004. This was a very good wine, usually; but, when Tony tasted it, it was horrible. He passed the glass to the sommelier and said, “It’s vinegared. Someone mishandled the bottle.”

The Sommelier gave him one of those looks and took a sip himself. He promptly spit it back into the glass. “I’m so sorry. This is terrible. I’ll take it away and bring something else.”

Abby held out a hand for the glass. “I’m not going to taste it but I’d like a look at it.” She held the glass up to the light then rolled it carefully. “It’s sulfured. It got too hot. Shame.” 

The sommelier nodded. “That’s good to know. I’ll tell the provider.” He put the bottle on a counter in the service area for later and went to find something else, as that was the only bottle of that particular vintage they had.

He returned with a Duhart-Milon, (Pauillac) - 2010.

Tony tasted that and delivered his opinion, “A classic Pauillac, opaque, purple-colored, 2010; it’s a blend of 73% Cabernet Sauvignon and 27% Merlot, beautiful notes of creme de cassis, licorice, tobacco, and forest floor. A bit bigger and more muscular than most previous vintages. This full-bodied Pauillac possesses stunning density, as well as intensity”

The sommelier almost kissed him. “Oh, sir, if I’d known you were a connoisseur ...”

Tony smiled at him easily. “I worked as a sommelier a couple of summers while I was in college. And once or twice undercover.”

Tony and Ducky told stories of different wines they’d had and where. Ducky had stories of France and Italy. Tony’s were mostly based in Philadelphia and Boston. Gibbs smiled easily over all, while the rest of the group offered opinions or comments here and there. 

They were just getting their food when a loud and unwelcome voice attracted their attention.

“No, I do not want to be seated with my idiot son and his low-class friends. I’m expecting some very important people. Big business deal. I expect everything to be the finest and most expensive you’ve got.” Anthony D. DiNozzo was being his usual obnoxious self.

Tony blinked for a moment then grinned, that one that made Remy moan and cover his eyes. He motioned to the sommelier, who came over quickly. “That bottle of vinegar? What did you do with it?”

The man nodded at the counter. “It’s there. I put it to the side so that no one would serve it. Why?”

“I’d like you to take it to Mr. DiNozzo’s table. Just offer it to him, with my compliments. See what he does.”

“As you wish. Should I wait until his guests come?” The Sommelier had a good idea what Tony was up to, and, since he already disliked the other man, was willing to cooperate.

“Yes.” Tony returned his attention to their table.

Megan just set plates around; there was no confusion, as they were all the same, eighteen-ounce prime rib, baked potato, pan-seared Brussels sprouts, and salad. The only thing she had to remember was who had what salad dressing. Rolls, butter, and sour cream came family-style. “If you need more of anything, just give me a call.” She walked away to take menus to her next table.

Gibbs finally asked, “Okay, AJ, what are you up to?”

Tony chewed a sprout, then swallowed before saying, “I’ve never actually disliked my father until now. So ... I’m pissed.”

Dean opined, “Never piss AJ off. Not good. He’ll get spiteful on you. So?” He looked at Tony.

“Just demonstrating that Father ... has no taste. He doesn’t know the difference between good and expensive.” Tony cut his beef carefully. “Ducky?”

Ducky nodded. “There’s ... nouveau riche, the new rich. Then there is that class of nobility that go back generations. And those in between. People who know quality, whether they can afford it or not. Mr. DiNozzo is in that group of obnoxious nouveau riche who don’t know the difference between quality and cost. Like that bottle of wine. It’s rather expensive, but I wouldn’t make salad dressing from it. We’re drinking wine that cost about a hundred and fifty dollars a bottle ...” Gibbs muttered, “Fuck, Ducky,” while the rest of the table gave him wide-eyed looks, except for Tony. “It’s very good and worth every penny, but if you want another bottle, I’m taking up a collection. We’ll also be having some very nice scotch, or bourbon.”

Abby was nodding her understanding. “So, AJ, you’re just letting your ol’ man dig a hole and fall in it.”

Tony nodded. “Exactly. Just because someone gives you a shovel, doesn’t mean you have to use it.”

The whole table didn’t see anything wrong with what Tony was doing, after all: set a trap that was obvious, then invite someone to step into it. If one was stupid enough to take that step, well, tough.

The sommelier went to Senior’s table, offered the wine at a reduced rate because, as he said, the table that ordered it didn’t like it. “Although it’s supposed to be a very nice Nicolas Potel, Bonnes Mares - 2004.” He smirked. “It’s two hundred and fifty dollars a bottle. But I can let you have it for two hundred.”

Senior nodded. “That will be acceptable. Bring it to the table. I’ll just let it breathe until it’s wanted.” 

The Sommelier groveled a bit, then went away to fetch the wine and glasses and let the server know. 

It wasn’t long before three men arrived. Ducky knew one of them slightly and nodded to him genially. Tony recognized another and smiled faintly; the man was a true connoisseur of fine wine. 

They all listened in some amusement as Senior bragged about the wine, how expensive it was, and how he’d gotten a deal. He poured the whole bottle into four glasses, something that was rude and wasteful, as it assumed that everyone wanted the wine, and didn’t leave room for nose or color trails, called legs. 

He also had already ordered for everyone, declaring, “Surf and Turf. Best dish on the menu. Hope you like your steak rare.” He didn’t notice the annoyed looks from the other three men at the table.

He did, however, notice that no one was drinking the wine after the first sip. So he was, as Dean said, all up in their grill about it, demanding to know what was wrong with them that they wouldn’t drink such expensive wine. He was told, in no uncertain terms by the connoisseur, that it was vinegar, not fit to drink, and they weren’t going to. He actually ordered the server to take his glass off the table. 

The server, poor Megan, just nipped the glass off the table and scurried away with it. Senior called her back, glass in hand, and had her put it beside his own glass. “I’ll just drink it myself, there’s nothing wrong with it at all. You’re just ignorant. Don’t know good wine when you taste it.”

All three men now knew why so many people did business with Senior once then snubbed him, and why most of his continuing business deals were in foreign countries. They would endure this dinner as it was inexcusably rude to get up and leave, but they weren’t going to be investing in his Dubai venture. 

The food arrived, to Senior's explanations that anyone who ate beef more well done than bloody rare didn’t know what was good. 

Tony motioned to the sommelier and said, “Find a bottle of 2011 Justin Cabernet Sauvignon, even if you have to go out for it.” The Sommelier just nodded and hustled off.

He returned shortly with a bottle and said, “I sent the bus boy out for it. There’s a good liquor store just down the block. So ... It’s a bit new, but I’ve had this before. Very nice. Super smooth, round, but very full-bodied, nice raspberry, cherry and leather notes. Very leggy. Excellent choice.” He winked. “And I got two. One for this table and one for that one. Shall I deliver it?”

Tony nodded. “Use an aerator and decant it into a service. Show the bottle, then serve.” He grinned. “I know you know but ...”

The sommelier just shrugged. “Mr. DiNozzo doesn’t seem the sort that knows about this sort of thing. This way I can explain that the orders come from you.” 

Tony smirked and said, “Exactly. Thank you.” He slipped the man a folded note, which he tucked into a pocket without looking. 

They overheard the whole exchange, of course. The sommelier showed the bottle of wine and announced, “Mr. Anthony Jethro DiNozzo wanted you to have this . He instructed me to aerate and decant it for you.” He opened the bottle, pushed the aerator into the neck, and decanted the wine into a fancy decanter. He took the new glasses off the small cart and poured each about a third full. “There you are. Enjoy.”

Senior offered, or demanded, rather, to fill the glasses more, saying, “Stingy bastard. Here ... let me.”

Mr. Sutherland refused, saying, “Oh, no, thank you. If you fill the glass too full, you lose the nose. And that’s very important. Of course, I don’t expect you to know anything about good wine. Only Tony, of your whole family, ever listened. Must be the Paddington in him.”

Senior withdrew his hand as if he’d been burned. “Well, if that’s the way you want to be...”

“I do.” Mr. Sutherland offered a salute to his left-hand neighbor. “Clyde. I’ll trade my lobster for your fillet. I know you’re not that fond of beef.”

Clyde, who was one of the Hampton Clydes, pushed his plate over. “I don’t. Blood ... just no. And I’d really prefer a rosé. Or even a Zinfandel. Fish, you know.”

The third man just settled back to sip his wine and watch. He was a banker, who was assessing DiNozzo’s ability to pay back a loan. As Senior VP in charge of loans, he personally reviewed any request for more than two million. His name was Bruce Wayne, and he’d heard all the jokes several times. Now he wasn’t happy at all. He recognized the type. DiNozzo would renege on his debt and claim that it was an investment, not a loan. He’d have to have the loan's terms very clearly spelled out in the papers, if he made the loan at all.

Tony, seated ten feet way, could see all the wheels turning. He couldn’t help a bit of a snicker as his father fucked himself over. 

Ducky eyed Tony then said, “Anthony. Really.”

“No, Ducky, I refuse to feel guilty. Shovel. And ... I don’t know the man. At all. The last time I saw him, I nearly begged him for money to go to college. He said no. Said I couldn’t possibly be ready for college. So, I had to take out loans to go to OSU.” He shrugged. “It was that or get a job. And who the hell is going to hire a sixteen-year-old? I was just lucky to get into my fraternity.” He sipped his wine. “And let’s drop that. This is supposed to be a celebration, not a wake.”

Jimmy nodded. “That it is. But ... how the devil did you convince Gibbs?” He raised his glass in Gibbs' direction. 

Gibbs took over. “It didn’t take much. Stop and think a sec. Someone I’ve worked with for years respects me enough to want my name? Not gonna say no. Pass the bread please.” He took the last roll, then signaled Megan, who nodded from the kitchen door and disappeared back inside. 

She returned with two baskets of rolls and put one on each end of the table. “There you go. Are you going to want dessert?” She waited a moment to see who might want any, but no one seemed to want more than coffee. 

Ducky offered, “Perhaps a nice brandy to go with the coffee?”

Gibbs declined the brandy and asked for a bourbon straight instead. He was presented with a shot of Jefferson's Presidential Select 21-Year-Old. He took a sip, then added a splash of water. After another sip he said, “Very nice.” He examined the dark saffron color then continued, “aromas of vanilla, caramel, and rye spice on the nose, the palate is flavors of honey, warm pecan pie, cinnamon, and oak. The finish is long and elegant, with slight floral and citrus notes complemented by a creamy vanilla finish.” He glanced around the table then demanded, “What? I like bourbon. Same deal as wine. Shut up.”

Abby nodded. “Any spirit is up for some sort of analysis, and descriptive terms are always fruit, candy, earthy things, and smells.” She smiled. “It’s really fun, if you don’t get all stuffy and one-upmanshippy about it.”

Tony agreed, “Abby’s right. Now...” he looked around the table. “We about done?”

They all agreed that they were done. The last roll had disappeared several minutes ago, and the drinks were almost gone. It was about fifteen minutes before everyone was done savoring their drinks.

Ducky called for the check and handed Megan some bills. “There you are, my dear. Keep the change.” He eyed the DiNozzo table, where Senior was holding forth on the deficits of something or other. He was getting drunk and loud; other patrons were starting to eye him.

Tony got up and went over to the table. “Father, I’m going to do you a favor. Shut the fuck up. All you’re doing is making yourself look stupid. If you want a loan from these men, let them do the talking.”

Senior turned red in the face. “I was right to disown you. You’re nothing but an embarrassment.”

Tony shrugged. “Navy doesn’t think so. Made me a Lieutenant Commander. I’m up for a promotion when there’s a slot open.” He grimaced. “I hope it takes awhile.”

Senior shook his head like a bull chasing flies. “No ambition. No education. Just an ignorant drag on society.”

Tony shrugged. “I tried. You’re on your own. ‘Bye.” He started to walk off, but was stopped.

“You might not remember me. Derek Sutherland. I thought you had a degree in ... Physical Education?”

Tony smiled. “I do. But ... I am sorry. I don’t remember you.”

“You were working in a small Italian joint in Soho. I used to come in there because the Veal Picatta was so good.” Mr Sutherland waited.

Tony, clued in, nodded. “I do remember you. I just ...” he grinned. “Gimme a sec.” Tony fished in his pocket for his wallet. He’d written down all his degrees ages ago because he got tired of reciting them when he needed it for paperwork. “Here.” 

The paper was a revelation. It said; Forensics (MS), Phys Ed (BA), Criminal Justice (BS) Ballistics (BS) Mechanical Engineering (BS), Electrical and Computer Engineering (BS), Military Strategy and Tactics (MS) and Ordinance Design (MS) Tony waited while Mr. Sutherland read then said, “I also speak several languages: Arabic, Pashto, Dari, Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Japanese and some Mandarin. So ... I just wanted you to know that your advice wasn’t wasted. Thanks.” Tony offered his hand, which Mr. Sutherland shook. “My advice: Do not get involved with him. He’s self-centered, selfish, lecherous, and shifty. He’s also a prejudiced snob with delusions of gentility.” Tony smiled sweetly at his father. “I, on the other hand, am an officer and a gentleman. The Navy says so.”

Senior, meanwhile, was sitting with his mouth hanging open. He was just drunk enough that his brain wasn’t working quite as fast as usual, so he actually listened. He also read the piece of paper that Sutherland had handed off to his friends. They’d passed it around the table, and it had wound up in Senior’s hands. 

Tony eyed him for a moment then said, “You can keep that. And Father? Don’t bother to claim me now. You didn’t want me when I needed you; I don’t want or need you now. Excuse me; my friends are waiting.” And with that, he walked away, back straight, head high. 

He rejoined the group where Abby hugged him and Tim patted his shoulder. Jimmy glowered at the other group, then squeezed Tony’s arm. His SEALs all gave the ol’ man a hairy eyeball, then followed him out the door. Ducky tut-tutted, shaking his head. “Man has rotted his brain with expensive, bad quality Scotch.”

Gibbs brought up the rear, eyed Senior, shook his head, then observed, “He’s the bravest, best man I’ve ever worked with. He’s a credit to his service and his country. Shame you can’t see it.”

Senior sputtered as he realized that he’d thrown away his son. The man didn’t even think enough of him to hate him. He watched as his prospective investors left, leaving him with the bill.

:

Author’s note: To all my lovely reviewers: Please remember that all stories are now finished before I start posting. In some cases, the next story is in beta. Suggestions are usually too late to be included. So, if you suggest something, don’t be offended if I don’t use it, the story is already finished.


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